


thin and so white

by halo21



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Addiction, M/M, Nosebleed, Pining, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo21/pseuds/halo21
Summary: Brian kind of loves Trent. Trent's nose is kind of bleeding.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Trent Reznor
Kudos: 17





	thin and so white

**Author's Note:**

> tw: drug use, blood
> 
> title: "wrapped in plastic" - marilyn manson

Brian almost wishes he could say he's never done this before. Almost. 

He and Trent are sitting in the near dark, only the faint flickering of a few candles and the pale light of the moon there to guide them.

A record spins in the background, the volume so low that it only registers as a hum to Brian when it falls upon his ears. 

Just background noise, because he and Trent both always need at least the illusion of disorder.

Not that this isn't disorderly. 

They aren't doing this after a show, to take the edge off after exhausting themselves, -- in Trent's case, by knocking shit over, in Brian's, by cutting himself open.

It's understandable then, because they're rock stars. It's what they're supposed to do.

Now?

They probably just look like a pair of addicts to the ghosts that likely congregate in Trent's living room, two losers on a fast track to nowhere. 

They're just two guys, doing nothing.

Except one of them has a CD case that he's cutting coke on, and the other one is watching intently, trying to decide if he cares about the cocaine or the guy more. 

Trent looks pretty, in a forbidden way, strangely enough like the bitchy girl Brian used to eye at the record store in Florida. Soft dark hair falls over his face, and Brian can see him concentrating, always trying so hard to _not fuck up._

Even if Brian's entire existence is devoted to fuckups, he still appreciates Trent's perfectionistic dedication. 

He needs somebody like Trent around. Somebody who wants to get things right, would sacrifice anything to make things near perfect. 

Trent pushes Brian to the limit quite often. Brian acts like he hates him for it, of course, -- spits venom at him when he bosses him around in the studio, even shoving him once or twice, maybe hoping that Trent might push back, just once. 

Secretly, though, he loves it, -- how Trent will fight tooth and nail to turn him into something beautiful, something worthy. Something extraordinary.

It means a lot that Trent believes in him that much.

Plus, all limit-pushing aside, Trent knows just how to reward Brian. He's doing it now, fixing up a divine poison fit for the both of them. 

Trent buys good drugs, and he knows just how to use them for optimal results. 

Hell, -- it's almost enough to turn Brian into something he despises: an addict. 

Trent stops cutting, the moonlight catching his deep-forest eyes as he looks up. 

Brian wonders: _am I getting addicted to the coke or am I getting addicted to you?_

He's still searching for the answer when Trent grabs a dollar and shoves the case towards him. "You first."

Brian nods, rolling up the dollar to form a narrow tube. With that, he closes the eye that he doesn't currently have a contact in and breathes in, lets the stuff carry him away to a wild, frightening place. 

The feeling attacks him, -- simultaneous pain and pleasure, both strong enough to kill. 

He sucks in a breath through his mouth, exhales a word. "Jesus." 

Trent just hums in noncommittal acknowledgement, bringing the CD case back towards himself. 

Brian barely notices as Trent gently takes the dollar bill from between Brian's fingers, rolling it back up so he can use it for the exact same purpose. 

He does it quick, -- no preparation, no hesitation. Both eyes closed instead of just one. 

He exhales rather than inhaling after he's done, a sigh resembling relief. His exquisitely-carved face relaxes into an expression of pure bliss, only for that look to fade as soon as his eyes open again. 

Trent frowns, reaching one hand up to swipe underneath his nose, -- only to be greeted with a long stripe of scarlet. "Shit," he curses. "I'm fucking bleeding." He meets Brian's eyes. "Think we ought to call some--"

"No," Brian interrupts quickly. He rises to his feet. "We're too fuckin' high. Just hold your head back and I'll go get a washcloth." 

Rolling his eyes dubiously, Trent obliges, tipping his head back and pinching his nose. Brian turns on the heel of his boot, heading for the kitchen to find a dishtowel, because Trent sure as hell wasn't keeping up with a linen closet in this wreck of a place. 

When he comes back with the soaked towel, Brian thinks he knows the answer to the question he silently asked himself earlier. He'd even dare say he's sure as he lets Trent's head fall to his shoulder, eyes starting to foggily glaze over as Brian applies pressure. 

The many facets of Trent's unpredictability will always be more exciting than drugs could ever be.

Trent's a thrill ride, -- someone who can make your heart pound right out of your chest, leave you begging for more, even after he's made you ill with uncertain worry. 

Not even the finest drugs in the world could replace the hole that would open up in Brian if and when he lost him.

There was absolutely no chance in hell.


End file.
